


Drenched to the Bones

by noctuua



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Developing Relationship, Explicit Language, F/M, Negan (Walking Dead) Swears, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Sexy Negan (Walking Dead)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-10-06 14:19:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17346770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctuua/pseuds/noctuua
Summary: You’re 22 years old and in the prime of life, you should be out having drinks with your coworkers, flirting with the bartender to get free drinks. Instead, you haven’t bathed in weeks and the dead are walking.Your name is Daisy Reinhard and you're traveling alone through Virginia when you meet Negan, the tall, handsome man with the leather jacket and the baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. You're hesitant about the Saviors, but Negan stirs something in you that you've never felt before and you find it hard to say no.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing Negan, so I hope I do his character justice! I'll be adding tags and warnings as I go along. In terms of the OC/you, I've created my own character, but you're welcome to replace her name with your own :-)
> 
> In this first chapter there's attempted rape/non-con (not super detailed) and there will be a bit more of that in future chapters, so please proceed with caution.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> Title is from Bob Dylan's, "The Times They Are A-Changin'".
> 
> Disclaimer: The Walking Dead and all of its characters are owned by Robert Kirkman.

You’re 22 years old and in the prime of life, you should be out having drinks with your coworkers, flirting with the bartender to get free drinks. Instead, you haven’t bathed in weeks and the dead are walking. 

It’s been 3 years since shit hit the fan and to say it’s been difficult is an understatement. Having just begun your second year of college in Boston, you’d settled into your degree and were the star pitcher for the softball team. At the beginning of the end of the world, you’d realized that you’d probably never see your family again. Without a car or access to other modes of transportation, there was no way for you to get home. You didn’t even know if they were still alive, you’d lost contact within days of the outbreak. With your favorite bat in hand, you’d packed up your most precious belongings and joined a group of survivors headed towards the CDC in Georgia, only your group never made it and you learned that traveling in a group had almost as many consequences as traveling on your own. 

Stranded and alone somewhere in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, Virginia, you’d picked up some hunting knives and supplies and found places to settle, only staying in each for no more than a week. It’s been a month now since you arrived in Virginia and you’re debating with yourself whether you think you can settle permanently somewhere by the sea.

You’re on your final night at your current camp when you start to get a bad feeling. Like something is stirring in the woods. You hear the steady crunch of boots in the distance coming from your right and you scramble to hide your things in a tree stump, before scurrying up a nearby tree. Moments later, a group of 4 men enter the small clearing and begin to set up camp. You grind your teeth and get comfortable; it’s going to be a long night.  
________________________________

You wake up at the crack of dawn to the low scrape of metal against wood. Remembering where you are and the men sleeping below you, you straighten quickly grasping at the knife sheathed in your belt only to find that it’s slipped out and is currently tumbling towards the ground. You hold your breath.

The men awake with a start, guns at the ready, looking wildly around at their surroundings. You will them not to look up, to split up and check the rest of the woods. Of course, things don’t work out that way.

“Hey girly,” a man calls up to you. “Why don’t you come on down here and show us your pretty lil’ face.”

You consider your options but aren’t given much time. A bullet hits the bark above your head and you grumble, shimmying down the tree.

“My, oh my, aren’t you a hot one, look at that tight ass, boys,” the first man drawls as he looks you up and down. You glance over the other 3 and assume this one must be the pack leader. He steps slowly towards you until you can feel his hot breath across your face. You glare up at him in disgust and spit on his chest.

The man’s mouth splits into a menacing sneer and he fists his hand in your hair, pulling hard so your neck is strained. “You’re gonna regret that, you lil’ bitch,” he hisses. Bringing his gun to your forehead, he backs you into the tree. 

“You’re coming with us,” he says. “But first, I wanna see you strip. Give the boys a lil’ show.” Gun still aimed at your head, he takes a step back and gestures for you to begin. 

Bending over slowly, you untie the laces of your boots and slip your hand down the left one. Within seconds, you’ve wrapped your hand around the hilt of the knife hidden inside and stabbed it between the man’s eyes. Yanking his body towards you, he catches some bullets as the 3 men begin firing at you. You wait until the shooting stops and you can hear them reloading their guns, before shoving the body towards them and running in the direction of your things. Grabbing your bat, you swing back around and find a place to hide. You can hear the men shouting just meters away. 

You wait until one of them has wandered off in search of you, before ambushing the other 2, killing one with your hunting knife and the other with a few hard swings of the bat. You stalk in the direction you heard the fourth man go, stopping for a moment to listen for his footsteps. It’s silent, so you wait. The rustling of leaves above catches your attention but before you can tumble out of the way, the final man slams you to the ground, knocking the wind out of you. In a flurry of fists, he wraps one hand around your throat and punches you in the face with the other. You cry out in pain as the man snarls against your skin.

“You fucking bitch!” He shouts, almost foaming at the mouth. “I’m going to make sure you regret what you just fucking did. I’m going to make you wish you were dea—”

Thrusting forward, you head butt him with as much strength as you can muster. You hear the satisfying crunch of cartilage and you sneer at him despite the throbbing in your head. Rolling over onto your knees, you crawl quickly away, but not before he’s grabbed one of your ankles and begun to claw his way up your body. You can feel your jeans starting to slide off your hips and your hands search desperately for your bat or one of your knives. 

As he gains purchase on your hips and gives a triumphant grunt, you kick backwards and hit him in the crotch causing him to reel backwards, roaring in pain. Your right hand finds your bat and you jump to your feet, spinning around and swinging it at the man’s head. He falls to the ground motionless, a low moan falling from his lips as blood begins to seep from his hairline. He lays there on the ground before you, eyes flicking up to you, pleading. 

“Fucking pathetic,” you hiss.

A smile spreads across your angelic features and your eyes glow. The rising sun shines behind you and through your hair. You bring the bat down on his head, over and over again, the sickening cracks and squelches echoing through the otherwise eerie silence. You stop. 

Chest heaving and hair strewn across your face, you’re startled by a jarring clap. A tall, handsome man in a black leather jacket steps out from behind a tree, applauding you as he walks slowly towards you. Your body tenses, bat held at the ready, as his eyes bore into you and he flashes you a heart stopping grin. His dimples are incredible and your breath catches in your throat.

“Holy _fucking_ shit!” He exclaims. “If that ain’t one of the most badass things I’ve ever seen,” he says, his voice booming in the quiet. You take a cautious step backwards.

“No need to be scared, darlin’,” he says, voice lower, warm, the smile still playing at his lips.

“I’m not scared,” you retort as your face scrunches into a frown.

“Good!” He takes another step forward, drawing closer to you, his interest piqued further as you’ve finally started speaking. “The name’s Negan, I’m the big boss man of a group called the Saviors and you look like you’d be a welcome addition.”

“‘The Saviors’?” You question suspiciously, eyeing Negan. He’s at least a foot taller than you, shoulders broad, his figure towering over you. You feel a rush of intimidation and, more frighteningly, something else that stirs low in your belly and makes your pulse flutter. “I don’t really work well in groups.”

Negan laughs, a deep, booming laugh, and sticks his hand out between the two of you.

“You know, sweetheart, the polite thing to do when someone introduces themselves to you is to introduce yourself in return,” he says.

You lick your lips and look up at him through your lashes. “Daisy,” you reply, taking his big hand in yours and giving it a firm shake. 

Negan’s smile widens once more. “Got a last name, Daisy?”

“Does it matter?” You’re quick to respond. Negan blinks back at you, grin still plastered on his face. 

“Reinhard. Daisy Reinhard,” you sigh.

“Can I just say, you, Miss Daisy, are fucking _beautiful_. Watching you swing that bat and bust that guy’s head open was really fucking gross and I fucking loved it. Every fucking second of it. Don’t think I’ve been this turned on in a while,” he chuckles lowly, still holding your hand. It feels as if you’re being pulled into him. You remember to breathe.

“God,” you groan with a roll of your eyes, removing your hand from his and pulling back. “If I’m going with you, please don’t call me that. ‘Miss Daisy’ makes me sound like a fucking granny.”

Negan laughs at that. “It’s a deal, princess.”

You grab your things and let him lead you to his car.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos!!

The ride back to the Sanctuary is uneventful. Negan lays out the ground rules: no stealing, no rape, everyone earns points, everyone works and pulls their weight, etc. They seem simple enough, you think, but you can’t help the anxiety that’s building up inside of you, gnawing at your insides. Surviving in a group hadn’t worked out well for you and now suddenly you’re joining a community? After almost a year and a half of being by yourself? 

You want to tell Negan you’ve changed your mind, that you want to get out of the car, but he’s so damn charismatic and the way he keeps grinning at you forces you to remain silent. Every time he switches gears his knuckles brush against your thigh and even through the fabric of your jeans your skin tingles. Who would’ve thought the mere smile of a man probably more than twice your age was enough to get you all hot and bothered? You blame it on the fact that you haven’t had sex in almost 3 years, but who’re you kidding. Negan is fucking hot.

Glancing over at the man, you admire his slicked back hair and salt and pepper stubble. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on his thigh, tapping to the beat of a silent song, Negan looks at ease and in his element. Your fingers itch to reach out and stroke his face, mapping out every inch of his skin with your fingertips. Your gaze drifts to his eyes and your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s watching you watch him. 

“Like what you see, doll?” He asks, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you scoff. You roll your eyes as he brings a hand to his chest in mock upset.

“I’ll win you over eventually, darlin’,” he says with a wink. “Just you fucking wait.”

You’re silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond until you decide to change the subject.

“You know, I could’ve used some help back there with those guys,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest and turning your body towards him. 

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re fucking joking, right? Pullin’ my dick?”

“No,” you reply with a snort. “Some help would’ve been appreciated!”

“Now that’s a fucking riot,” he laughs. “Baby, we both know you would’ve tried to bash my fucking head in the same as the others if I’d stepped in before I did. Anyways, you didn’t look like you needed the help. Not with the way you were swingin’ that fucking bat.”

Your jaw drops a bit.

“That’s not true!” You exclaim. He shoots you a knowing look and you burst out laughing. “Okay, maybe the first part is, _maybe_. But that last guy got in a solid couple of punches before I found my bat.”

Negan shrugs in acknowledgement. “Had he gone any further I would’ve crushed his fucking skull myself,” he admits. “But as it turns out, you are a fucking _beast_ with that bat.”

You consider his words for a moment.

“So, if you’re some big wig leader of a community, what were you doing out there all by yourself? Shouldn’t you have some sort of...I dunno, escort or something?” You scrunch up your nose trying to think of a better word.

“I’m Negan! I wear a leather jacket, I have Lucille and my nutsack is made of steel. I can do whatever the fuck I want, whenever the fuck I want,” he exclaims with pride.

Looking at Negan in disbelief, you feel a bubble of laughter rising at the back of your throat. He side eyes you before asking, “what’s so fucking funny, doll?”

Covering your mouth in an attempt to stop the laughter, you tilt your head to the side and study his handsome face.

“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you,” you say placatingly. “But like, did you practice that in the mirror or something?” 

“Well shit, princess, no need to bust my fucking balls, a little fucking gratitude would be real fucking nice,” he replies, an eyebrow raised.

“Gratitude?” You ask, genuinely confused. “For what?”

“For bringing you back with me,” he states as if it’s the obvious answer. “I saved you.”

You stare at him incredulously. “Saved me?” You repeat. “I saved myself! And I never even told you I wanted to come with you!”

“Whatever you say, princess,” he practically purrs, smirking at you. You roll your eyes in response; Negan is unbelievably infuriating.

You change the subject again.

“So, who’s Lucille?”  
________________________________  


You’re not sure whether to be impressed by Lucille and how great Negan claims her to be, or to be shocked and horrified that he’s apparently obsessed with an inanimate object named after his dead wife. You settle for shocked and apprehensive and decide you never want to get on her bad side.

In your 22 years of life on this earth, you’ve never met anyone quite like Negan. Horribly narcissistic, you’d find it off putting if it weren’t for his charm, intelligence and humor. It definitely helps that he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever laid eyes on. His rugged good looks, broad shoulders and impish smile are enough to have you squirming in your seat, thighs pressed together and a steady blush rising in your cheeks. You hope Negan doesn’t notice, but from the smug looks he keeps shooting in your direction, you get the sinking feeling that he definitely has.

Unsurprisingly, Negan gets you to the Sanctuary in one piece. You’re greeted at the gate by two armed men who eye you curiously as Negan waves a dismissive hand towards them; they close the gates once the car is through and you watch them return to their posts in the rear view mirror. 

Initially, you experience feelings of awe as the huge factory comes into view. The sheer size of it is impressive and your thoughts are overrun by images of Negan clearing the place himself, Lucille in hand, forehead glistening with sweat and blood spattered across his cheeks. You shiver.

The feelings are replaced by ones of trepidation as you finally notice the display of walkers impaled and chained along a fence and maze of road blocks. Negan notices the way your body tenses and places a reassuring hand on your thigh, the heat of his palm seeping through the denim.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he says in a low voice. “They’re just there for...safety. Or when we need to make a fucking point.”

You glance over at him and shoot him a smile. You don’t question it, if you squint hard you can recognize the practicality of it all. 

Parking the car closer to the building, Negan calls someone on a radio you hadn’t notice. Once he’s done speaking to the person on the other side, he locks eyes with you and begins to lean towards you. Your back straightens and your eyes widen, fingers gripping at your jeans. Negan’s smirk widens into a shit eating grin as he reaches past your body to open your door. He’s so close you can smell his aftershave. It’s a clean, fresh scent that makes you want to inch closer to get a better whiff. You realize you haven’t breathed and you let out a slow breath as Negan pulls back, his hand trailing over your thighs as he does so, tongue in cheek. 

“Ladies first,” he says, still grinning. You push quickly out of the car, grabbing your rucksack and bat on the way. 

You go to follow him as he begins walking towards the entrance of the building, but he stops you.

“While I’d love to give you a _full_ tour of our humble abode,” he says, smirking suggestively, “I have other top dog business I’ve got to attend to. Fucking boring ass shit.”

Your shoulders drop in disappointment. 

“Now, now, turn that frown upside down, sweetheart!” He exclaims, gesturing to a tall, slender man approaching you. “My boy Simon here will take mighty good care of you. And if he doesn’t, you fuckin’ come to me, got it?”

You nod in acquiescence. Simon smiles at you.

“Simon’ll have to take your lil’ friend there,” Negan says, nodding at the bat still held in your hand, “and any of the other weapons you’ve got stashed on that hot as fuck body of yours, but not to worry. You’ll get them back as soon as you’ve been cleared, I fuckin’ promise.”

You look at Simon who nods at you reassuringly. Something about the man gives you the creeps, but you can’t quite put your finger on what. Maybe it has to do with his horrible mustache, you think. You hand him your things anyways and turn to wave goodbye to Negan. 

“See ya, doll,” he says with a wink. “Hopefully sooner rather than later.”

Silently, you hope for the same.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey pals! Just wanted to say thank you for the kudos and for readings! :-) It's probably going to take me some time to finish this because I'm currently in the second semester of my masters program and it's kicking my ass, but I'll definitely be finishing it eventually!
> 
> Also, apologies for any spelling inconsistencies! I'm American, living and studying in Ireland so I switch a lot between American English spelling and Irish English spelling haha. Anyways, thanks again, love and appreciate you all :-)

“So, this is your bed right here,” Simon mutters as he gestures disinterestedly towards a bare, uncomfortable looking cot situated among some others that look occupied. He throws your bag down beside it and turns to leave the room. You hesitate and he notices, looking back at you and smiling, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he says, a phrase you’re beginning to get sick of. “No one will steal your things. Thieves who’re caught get the iron. Makes for a gnarly fuckin’ scar.”

You decide to ask about it another time. You’re apprehensive about sleeping surrounded by a bunch of strangers, but you realize you don’t really have much choice in the matter. 

Simon gives you a thorough, albeit quick tour of the Sanctuary, walking you through the cafeteria and the main floor. It’s dark and ugly and smells like moth balls, and the thick cement walls seem to close in on you the longer you remain inside. You haven’t seen this many people together since Before. Not since you’d learned that you really can’t trust anyone except yourself—maybe not even yourself. You take note of the exits, a habit you’ve acquired over time. Simon does most of the talking and you find it hard to get a feel for him. You get a sense he doesn’t like you much, or at least doesn’t trust you in the slightest, which you understand because the feeling is mutual. 

As he explains the system to you in a bit more detail, you find you come away with more questions than answers. From the gist of it, you understand that the Saviors provide protection to some other communities of survivors in the surrounding area in exchange for their produce and cooperation. _At least you’re not with those poor fuckers_ , you think to yourself. 

You find the situation a bit cruel and unfair, but you’ve only just arrived and don’t think it’s your place to start sharing your opinions. Plus, you’re survivors living in a broken society, a collapsed world. You’re not sure what you expected, but the Saviors probably aren’t far from it. This is everyone’s reality now.

Simon decides to bring you outside to show you the security fence and you’re not sure if it’s a “thinly” veiled threat or he just genuinely wants you to see it. You follow him towards the perimeter anyways. Standing next to him as he shoves a cigarette between his lips, you watch silently as two haggard looking men in ugly, beige sweat suits struggle to chain a walker to the fence. Bony arms outstretched and maw gaping, the creature claws the air, desperate to taste their flesh. You can see its molars through tears in the rotting flesh of its jaw. Further down, two more men struggle between a walker impaled on a spike and another chained to a cement block. You relax the muscles in your face as you feel them pulling into a frown, Simon watching you from the corner of his eye. 

He offers you the cigarette and you decline with a wave of your hand. 

“Bad time to pick up bad habits,” you say, finally meeting his eye. Simon chuckles dryly in response.

“So, I’m guessing those guys aren’t out there of their own volition?” You ask, gaze turning back to the men on the other side of the fence.

“Nah,” Simon replies with a shrug. “They’re just giving back to the community, like in the Old World when prisoners would clean up highways and all that shit.”

You turn your head to look at the man, an eyebrow raised.

“Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time,” he says without skipping a beat. You’re unsure of how to respond.

You turn your attention to a man in the signature beige sweats being escorted out from the side of the building at gunpoint. His brown hair is long and messy and hangs across his face as he’s pushed towards the gate. A garish, orange “A” is spray painted across his chest.

“What’s the ‘A’ stand for?” You ask, still watching the man.

“Asshole,” Simon states cheerfully before taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Before you can respond, Simon and the other man’s escort are beckoned away by a stern looking woman standing at the factory entrance. Left alone, you wander curiously towards the man in the sweats. Glancing towards the guards at the gate, they don’t seem to care so you inch closer until you’re just a few feet from him. 

“That color looks awful on you, totally washes out your skin.” You smile cheekily at the man. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence, gaze glued to the ground. 

“Not in a joking mood?” You frown. “I guess, I wouldn’t be either.”

He doesn’t look up. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “Let me start over again. My name’s Daisy, I just got here today, I don’t know anyone here and I think the guy who’s showing me around is a complete dickhead.” 

You flash him another smile as he lifts his head and his gaze finally drifts to your face. His dark eyes pierce straight through you and you’re suddenly aware of how he towers over you, shoulders broad and biceps thick beneath the fabric of his top. You lick your lips and stick your hand out between your bodies. The man’s eyes narrow and you watch as suspicion creeps across his features. You give a toothy smile, dimples on display. 

“Daryl,” he finally mutters, grasping your hand firmly and quickly letting go. 

“Oh, I love a nice southern boy,” you joke, lips curling into a smirk. It pulls down into another frown as Daryl fixes you with a blank stare.

“You’re a tough one to crack, Daryl, I’ll give you that,” you say with a sigh. “But I sure as shit am gonna crack ya.”

Simon saunters back over to you and you step away from Daryl. 

“Just getting to know some of the locals,” you say with a laugh. Simon ignores you, coming between yours and Daryl’s bodies, chest just inches away from the other man’s. You take a hesitant step back, looking between the two. Daryl isn’t much shorter than Simon, but he’s broader and looks stronger. You can tell he’d put up one hell of a fight. 

“Time to get to work, asshole,” Simon growls, a sneer painted across his face, teeth bared. 

Daryl’s escort approaches and grabs him by the bicep, dragging him towards the center of the gate. 

As you and Simon return to the building, he shoots you a look, stern, his brows furrowed. You meet his stare for a moment before bringing it down to his mustache.

“There’re some folks here you don’t want to be hangin’ around with here, girly.” 

You try not to roll your eyes at the condescension dripping from his voice. 

“Gotcha.”

As you move to step away, a hand wraps around your wrist, large and rough, and you’re pulled back towards Simon, your other hand coming up between your bodies to stop from colliding with him. You glare up at him and yank your wrist from his grasp. A shiver rolls down your spine and your skin crawls. 

“I mean it,” he whispers, his lips turning up into a sneer that exposes all his teeth, yellow and cigarette stained. He reminds you of Jack Nicholson in _The Shining_ , menacing, contemptuous and manic. You walk away quickly before he can say anything else. 

Come dinner time, you find yourself sitting alone at a small table in the corner of the cafeteria. Negan had informed them of your recent arrival and given you some points “on the house”. You remind yourself to thank him later—he seems like the kind of man who enjoys being thanked. 

It’s been ages since you had a proper meal and your mouth is beginning to salivate just looking at the tiny hunk of lasagna on your plate. According to some of the whispers you’ve heard, this is a rare occurrence in the Sanctuary, so you’ll be sure to savor every bit of it. 

The people here seem decent enough, tired but still surviving. Among those milling about, you see many weary faces and drooping eyes, but you also spot smiles and hear laughter, a couple children run around the room. As much as you try, though, there’s something simmering beneath the surface that you can’t quite distinguish. It makes you nervous, anxious for some impending doom. You attempt to quash those feelings down with bites of your lasagna and thoughts of clean clothes. 

Finishing your dinner, you get up from the table and make your way outside to the small garden the Saviors have attempted to start. While the plots look well-groomed, there are no blossoms and the soil looks too dry. Given the right season, you think you could get a decent sized vegetable patch started, but then again, that would require you to stay here longer than you’d planned.

_Come on, Daisy, get your shit together. Don’t get too comfortable, something like this can’t last_.

You spot a fire escape on the side of the building and glance around to see if anyone is watching. You’re surprised at how lax they’ve been with you regarding security, but you suppose it has to do with the fact that they’ve taken all your weapons. 

Grabbing onto the bottom rungs, you begin to pull yourself up the ladder, back and shoulder muscles spasming beneath your skin. You hadn’t realized until now just how sore you were from your encounter with those men. You take some mental notes of your injuries.

The roof, currently unoccupied, is littered with empty beer cans and cigarette butts. You find an empty patch of cement and make yourself comfortable, settling onto your back, knees bent and arms cushioning your head. The sky is beginning to darken, transitioning from a beautiful magenta hue to a deep purple. Stars are beginning to appear and you can just make out some of the constellations.

You’ve heard some rumors about a man named Rick and his group in a community called Alexandria. While you don’t know the full story, there’s been some talk about a raid and the murder of a whole outpost. You’re not sure if the whispers are true, but this really doesn’t sound like something you want to be a part of. You’ve basically walked in from the street, or more like been dragged in by Negan, so you’ve nothing to do with whatever conflict the two groups have with each other. But your association with the Saviors, even if you’ve only been here for one day, could get you killed. Is the Sanctuary really worth it? Worth your life?

You chew on the inside of your cheek and tap your feet against the cement, dull thuds vibrating through the floor. You decide you need to leave in the morning; a cot, clean clothes and “home-cooked meals” aren’t worth your life. It may be lonely surviving on your own, but you’ve survived this long with _almost_ no mishaps. You sigh.

“What’s on your mind, sweet cheeks?” A voice behind you drawls.

You startle at the disruption and roll onto your hands and knees, pushing off the ground into a low crouch, body tense. Adrenaline rushes through your veins and your heart beats so hard you can barely hear. Negan stands a few feet away, wide grin spread across his face, teeth shining and dimples on display. You let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding and your shoulders slump. 

“Jesus, Negan,” you say, exasperated. “You always sneak up on defenseless girls?” 

You lower yourself back into your original position and listen as Negan laughs.

“Defenseless?” He scoffs, eyebrows raised. “You’re hardly fuckin’ defenseless, princess. Just ‘cause you don’t have any of your weapons doesn't mean you can’t fucking protect yourself.”

You smile up at the sky.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

You hear the scuff of Negan’s boots as he walks towards you. The leather of his jacket creaks as he seats himself beside you, long legs stretched out before him and hands supporting him from behind, the one closest to you just grazing your shoulder.

“So, what brings you here, doll?” Negan asks, looking down at you.

“Just needed some air,” you sigh. Negan chuckles.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as Negan casts you a cursory glance, gaze lingering just a bit too long on your breasts. You clear your throat and his hazel eyes dart up to meet your stare. Shooting him a toothy grin, you blink up at him, long lashes dancing across the apples of your cheeks. Negan smiles back, all teeth and dimples, almost predatory.

“You fancy a drink, darlin’?” 

You’re taken by surprise but you don’t let it show. _Why the hell not_ , you think.

“Sure.”

________________________________

The clink of glass brings you out of your thoughts and you blink a few times, lids clicking and your eyes focusing on your surroundings. Negan’s room is big and luxurious by today’s standards. He’s sat you on the edge of his bed, the mattress so soft you wonder if you’ll ever be able to get off of it. As Negan hands you a glass, his fingers trail over yours and you feel a familiar pool of heat settle in your belly. Tongue in cheek, he seats himself across from you in a beautiful, brown leather chair. Raising his glass, he smiles.

“To you, Daisy,” he says, “and to you joining us here at the Sanctuary.”

You sniff the amber liquid and can’t help the automatic scrunch of your nose as you recoil. The strong, burning smell of whiskey brings a flood of memories from when you were 16, drinking alcohol for the first time in your best friend’s basement. You shove those thoughts away as a wave of sadness attempts to engulf you. Instead, you smile back at Negan and throw the whiskey back, the deep burn trickling down your throat and through your chest, settling in your stomach. The warmth spreads through you like a fire. 

“God damn,” Negan murmurs, eyes boring into you. You feel the warmth creeping up your neck and across your cheeks. It’s been a long time since you’ve drunk alcohol, you’d come across some red wine about a year ago and savored it for as long as you could. You’d even tried making moonshine one summer, but you’d been scared shitless that you’d go blind from drinking it, so you’d decided not to risk it. 

Negan knocks back his drinks as well and refills your glasses. 

“You know, I haven’t decided if I’m going to stay yet,” you say hesitantly, not quite looking the man in the eye.

“I’d be fuckin’ surprised if you had,” Negan says with a laugh. “But you know, it’s boring as shit out there by yourself and if you stay here, we’ve got all the shit you could possibly need.”

You sip your whiskey and consider his words. Negan’s not wrong, but you’re not sure you’re ready to get involved in whatever’s brewing between the communities. You’ve lasted this long by yourself so you’re sure you could continue. It’s not like you know anyone here well enough to give your life for them. But then, you’re so intrigued by Negan and you have been enjoying his company. Aside from the fact that he’s obnoxiously attractive, it really is lonely out in the big, wide world. Who’s to say you’ll ever come across a community like theirs again?

You sigh, finishing your drink.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally respond. Standing up from the bed, you lean over the small table between you and Negan and reach for the whiskey bottle. As your fingers curl around the bottle’s neck, Negan closes his hand around yours and he slides closer, head tilting, the rough stubble of his cheek skimming over your jaw until you can feel his lips press softly against the pulse point on your neck. You’re completely frozen, heart thudding in your chest. His hair smells fresh and flowery. Your skin crawls in a way completely the opposite of when Simon had grabbed you. It feels as if you’re being pushed towards Negan, your fingers itching to run through his hair and slide across his chest. All you want to do is kiss him.

As he pulls back to look at you, you press your lips against his, free hand coming up to steady yourself on his shoulder. You can feel the hard muscle beneath his jacket, tensing as it holds your weight. Negan flicks his tongue against your lip and you grant him access, mouth opening to let your tongues slide together. The taste of whiskey off his mouth tingles through yours and you feel drunk off the kiss alone. Dragging your teeth gently over his bottom lip, you pull away, eyes heavy lidded. Negan watches you with a shit eating grin as you sit back down on the bed. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you groan, hands propping you up from behind. 

“That was hot as shit,” Negan replies, clearly enjoying watching your internal struggle. 

“And it can’t happen again!” You interrupt him before he can speak again. 

Negan raises his hands, palms facing you. 

“I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, but you sure as hell seem like you enjoyed that as much as I did.” Negan wiggles his eyebrows at you playfully and you roll your eyes.

“Let’s pretend it never happened,” you argue. “I wanna talk about something else.”

He nods his heads in acquiescence, “alright, princess, we’ll play by your rules.”

________________________________

You wake up to rays of light caressing your face and you sit up quickly, still on Negan’s bed. Your shirt has risen up your torso, the smooth skin of your stomach exposed, goose bumps rising to the surface of your flesh as you realize how chilly it is in the room. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you look over at Negan, startling when you meet his stare, his hazel eyes glinting in the morning light. You stretch your arms towards the ceiling, the fabric of your shirt rising higher on your ribs. Negan watches you appreciatively. 

“You always invite girls to your room and watch them sleep?” You tease. He chuckles in response and stands up to stretch himself. You watch in awe as his shirt pulls from his trousers, lifting up just enough to reveal his toned abs and the happy trail that dips below his belt. You lick your lips. 

“I have to go,” you murmur, but it sounds more like a question than a statement. You clear your throat and try again.

“I’m gonna head towards the coast.”


End file.
